Uncharted: Man of the Moon
by kaboomduck
Summary: Chloe is missing in the Andes. An ancient civilization awaits to be found. Mercenaries and armed forces starts chasing. Nate's back again into the action with Elena riding shotgun and Sully tailing them behind. It's an all out Uncharted ride till the end!
1. Chapter 1

**28th February, 11:56 p.m.  
>Some village somewhere,<strong>

Nathan Drake was in one hell of a situation; it was nearly midnight, and the ritual's about to get started, and Nate wasn't able to do anything about it.

The moon – already glowing brightly above the dark starry sky – was very slowly turning soft red, giving the night an ominous feeling of bloodlust.  
>He tried to move again, but in vain – the thick heavy ropes tied around his torso, wrists, ankles, thighs and neck made sure that he wouldn't even budge.<p>

Another shot of pain ran through his nerves, courtesy of the hideous gash across his back which was clearly bleeding blood down to the floor, slowly forming a dark pool of red.

"**Elena…**_**Elena**_**!**" he shouted at the top of his voice, each word louder than before, sounding desperate and very, very alarmed. Elena Fisher was somewhere in the middle of the whole mess, similarly tied down like Nate, but she suffered an unluckier fate. For some time when the clock strikes half-past midnight, the so-called **Telophison**, god of darkness and fire, will emerge in the form of a red moon, and will demand blood – not just any blood, _human _blood.

Elena Fisher – field reporter, seasoned journalist and current girlfriend of Nathan Drake – was going to be sacrificed to Telophison and served on a silver platter.

Drake shouted again, but was immediately cut off by the hand of a burly guard shoving a dirty cloth into his mouth. The guard screamed at him in his native language (which sounded like a mix of Vietnamese and Spanish), and slammed his fist into Nate's stomach.  
>More pain shot up; he winced and tried to cough but was muffled by the ragged cloth that was now stained with bits of blood from his mouth.<p>

It was midnight now, and he could hear a unanimous chant coming from beyond his position, somewhere below in the main village square. Nate was tied up in a pole on the block tower overlooking the village; the main square acted as both a ritual and celebration site.  
>Square stone houses surrounded the village in an organized pattern. There were four towers surrounding the rectangular village, and Nate was placed on the upper left one, closest to the ritual site.<p>

"_Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap! What the heck am I supposed to do now?...Nice going Nate, getting her into all this trouble...damnit!_" he shouted inside his head. It wasn't his fault really, just a couple of bad goings and dumb unfortunate luck.

**15th February, 7:25p.m.  
>Nate's House, Colorado Springs,<strong>

It had been quite a night for Nathan, flying home from the depths of the Amazonian jungles, searching for a long-lost legendary treasure that apparently turned out to be nothing but, a legend. He slid off his gun holsters and tossed them onto the sofa, took off his brown shirt, kicked off his shoes and slipped into bed.

It wasn't long before the phone beeped repeatedly, sending headache pulses through his brain. He reluctantly rolled to his side and reached out for the phone, knocking over a picture frame placed beside it. The beeping stopped abruptly as he tapped on the green button,

"Nate speaking."

his voice sounded very tired and drowsy, not like the usual cheerful 'hello'. A lighter voice came through the line, that of Elena, saying,

"_Nate! I heard that you were coming back today, so I thought of making a surprise for you back at your place._"

Nate smiled weakly, cheered up by the familiar sound of the woman he loves – it has been three weeks since he'd met anybody, save for a couple of hundred gun-toting mercenaries and T-shirt wearing 'modern' natives.  
>He was also glad that she was the first to call him, unlike before, when Sully used to ring him up and <em>order <em>him to go to his bar for rounds to talk about his trip, or more often, the treasure.

What Nate needed was rest, not a booster for his headache, so hearing Elena's sweet voice was just the thing that made him smile. "Elena!" he said in a cheerful voice,

"What is this surprise? I don't see anything here,"  
>he sat on the edge of the bed, stretched a bit and picked up the fallen picture frame. Elena replied,<p>

"_Uh, yeah, about that, Nate. I'm stuck in Southborough while driving to your place just a few minutes ago. Not to be bothering you after your long day, but come here and pick me up will you?_"

Nate snickered and gave a small laugh,  
>"Heh, you sure this ain't another one of your jokes?"<p>

Elena had been giving Nate a hard time for quite a while now, taking it as revenge for something he did in Valentine's that _did not _amuse her.

"Come on now, can't we just forgive and forget?" he said, to which Elena replied,

"_No, this is not a joke and no, I won't let that incident slip away. Now get here! It's freezing cold for your information. And old man Sullivan here is getting the flu._"

Nate sat upright, a little surprised, and said, amused,

"Sully's with you?"

"_That's right, kid. Stop asking questions and get your ass here now. I'm freezing faster than a bikini model in Antarctica._"

Nate assured him that he will be there in a few minutes and asked Elena where she was, and then they both hung up after a short 'Love you' exchange. The room fell silent again, and the sleep-deprived adventurer stretched his neck, sighed and stood up.

He looked at the picture frame he's still holding – Nate and Elena in Hawaii, complete with Hawaiian shirts and flowers around her neck (Nate didn't like the idea of plants hanging on him, thanks to a previous experience with not-so-friendly man-eating flowers), and the two were holding hands together and smiling.

He placed the picture back on the night stand and started walking out of the room, put on his shoes, picked up the car keys and went out without his gun, only wearing his white long-sleeved shirt and jeans.

Not long after he was gone, the phone's machine – set to activate when a call was picked up – beeped and started playing the voice-mails.

The first message beeped,  
>"Friday, January 28, 15:00 p.m."<p>

An Aussie accented voice spoke casually,

"_Nate, I don't know where you are right now, but call me back soon. I'm heading to a village somewhere in the Andes; I can't tell you where. This is Chloe._"

The machine beeped again after two seconds,  
>"Saturday, January 29, 21:28 p.m."<p>

Chloe's voice again,

"_Seriously, Nate, where are you? Things just got bad up here. Hurry up and call me._"

Again, for the last time, the machine beeped,  
>"Monday, January 31, 5:45 a.m."<p>

The voice now sounded exhausted and very serious.

"_I don't think that you are even there. So as soon as you hear this message, go to 'John' and ask for a double shot of – _"  
>The voice trailed off and was replaced by a rapid succession of gunfire. "<em><strong>Oh, shit. They're here.<strong>__ Just go and do what I said, you're the only one who can do it, Nate. Goodbye._"

Then the room fell silent again.


	2. Chapter 2

**15th February, 9:30 p.m.  
>Southborough, Colorado Springs,<strong>

"_Can someone explain to me why I have to sit in the __**backseat of my own car?**_" Nate asked in annoyance, sitting behind in his faithful old jeep after picking up Elena and Sully. Elena was driving and Sully was riding shotgun, leaving Nate behind with the luggage and sour look on his face.

"Don't be such a grouch; you know that I'm better at driving this car, Nate. While you," she said in a teasing tone, "_**you**_ are great at **pillaging ruins and pissing off** bad guys!"

"Don't forget the monkey climbing_, _Elena. He's got a knack at jumping around. Hell, he even got all the way up a waterfall to **jump down** into a **Nazi** submarine!"  
>Sully added joyfully, and then Elena said again, now in a dramatic fashion,<br>"Oh-ho, yeah, and there's the daring act of jumping **from car to car** in Tibet!"  
>Both of them laughed, though they knew that it was because of that skill itself that Nate had saved the world a couple of times.<p>

The laugh died down later, and Sully took another breath off his famous cigar,  
>"<em><strong>Seriously, kid<strong>__,_ where in the world did you learn those things? I'm telling you, Elena, I've never met a young man as crazy as he is!"

Nathan sighed, leaned in between them and said,  
>"<em>It still doesn't explain why I'm in the dog's seat.<em>"

Rather than replying, Elena held his face softly with her free hand and gave him a peck on the cheek, to which he just shrugged and went back to his cold place, smiling as he did.

The road was long and snowy, though the snow would definitely melt away by morning or afternoon, and the jeep was easily driving along the way to Nate's house. It was late at night already when the group reached the warm shelter of Drake's house, entering into a cozy glowing living room decked out with an inviting fireplace, a couple of comfy-looking sofas and a whole lotta books and artifacts.

The room looked more like a Victorian university's campus than a person's living room…unless that person was an avid treasure hunter and adventurer.  
>"<strong>This place never changed<strong> now did it? The last time I was here, old Brown over there was a tad bit cleaner and healthier." Elena said, referring to the brown bear-skin rug in front of the fireplace that looked darker than brown.  
>Nate dropped the suitcases on the golden-brown wooden floor and replied defensively,<br>_"I was out busy for **three weeks** okay? And hey, you can always do some cleaning around here; you're the one who talks about the furniture."_

Elena turned to face him, one eyebrow raised with her mouth slightly open. She held one finger towards Nate and corrected him,  
>"<em>Oh, no-no-no no, no. <em>**I'm**_** not**_ going to clean this stuff up, Nate_. __**You are**__. _It's time we settle the fact that I'm not one of those women who gets ordered by their man to do things. And, it's best that you get started on getting some housework instincts in that thick head of yours, who knows, you might just make a good domestic boyfriend. I could make an article too, _**'Thrill-seeker Turns Gardener'**_ or something_._"

The two were having a healthy debate while Sully went to the kitchen and helped himself to a good bottle of beer. Or...no, in fact, Sully came out of the kitchen with a tray holding three cups of hot coffee that gave out thin trails of steam with the promise of nerve-relieving warmth and taste.

"All right now, you two_._" he gestured them to sit on the couch in front of the fireplace and bear-rug. Nate looked at Elena, gave a half-smile and sat down on the long brown leather couch with her beside him; he placed his arm around her. Sully, on the other hand, seated himself on a single maroon sofa that seemed to be to his personal place in Nate's house.

"_**So, Nate,**_" he said, lighting up another cigar with a matchstick, "**where is this uh**_**, treasure?**_" Nate gave a glance at him, stared at the coffee in his hands for a moment and looked back up, saying nonchalantly, "_Well_,**there is no treasure!**"  
>Sully could hear Elena muffle a laugh and see some of her coffee spill.<p>

"What do you mean there's no treasure? I gave up **half of my time** to help you find that **godamned place**!" he roared, but none of them took it seriously, considering that 'half of his time' meant half of a week with Nate rather than a beautiful woman in Rio.

"_**There's no treasure, Sully**__, _though I must say, the place is pretty amazing_._" Now it was Elena's turn to look surprised; she turned to him and said,  
>"Wow, I never thought of you as the kind who'd stop and smell the roses<em>.<em>"  
>Nate took a sip of his coffee, then placed it down on the small coffee table in front and shrugged,<br>"I thought that I'd do a little more 'domestic' kind of activity if it pleases you."

As they all went on with their conversation, the phone's machine beeped in Nate's room, repeating a message that has already been said twice while he was gone,  
>"<strong>Delete three messages from Chloe Frazer?<strong>"  
>It sucks to have the machine programmed to do everything automatically, especially when it's supposed to delete all messages after asking five times without any answers. It's just that Nate didn't like to receive offers from companies, banks and such, and most of all, he never had an important call go through his phone – <em>ever<em>.

So it was a mystery as to why someone like Chloe Frazer would call him up at his house when she knew that chances are slim. What is not a mystery though, is that she was now trapped somewhere in the mountains of South America, left alone with a couple of men to face off a group of ruthless and bloodthirsty brutes.

...and Nate was still sitting there on the sofa, sipping coffee to the peaceful warmth of home and the company of two old friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**15th February, 9:30 p.m.  
>Somewhere in the Andes,<strong>

Chloe Frazer – young, beautiful and ruthless in gunfights – ran through the blazing snowstorm blindly, struggling to get one step ahead of the enemy, or, enemies. The storm wasn't that bad when compared to the one they faced two days ago, which was so bad that they had to hide inside a small cave till it died down. They lost two of their men during the storm – death by frostbite and a bullet wound. Now Chloe was left with three men, one of which was an archaeologist who came along to help them on the hunt.

"_Professor, can you keep up?_"

Chloe shouted behind her, small flecks of snow flying into her mouth. It was cold and discomforting, but there wasn't any other way, not after their equipments – including the radio communications and sat-phone – were destroyed during the raid.

Professor Jake Downing, the archaeologist, was a few meters behind Chloe, backed up by one of the men (while the other walked beside Chloe). He had a bad knee, arthritis probably, and was surely old enough to be fit for retirement in a small farmhouse back in sunny Australia; just by looking at him, anybody could tell that he was somewhere in the age of 60. Unlike the heavily armed and armored men and Chloe, Jake was wearing a standard snow suit – thick multi-layered parka and a big black goggle that covered his face.  
>Uncertain of the road ahead, the team decided to just keep moving despite not knowing where they are.<p>

"**Professor,** you got to move faster, I know it's hard but we're gonna lose time if you don't." The man beside him said, clearly younger and tougher than the old professor.  
>"I know, I know, Le– no, you're uh, Lane...or…ugh."<br>"It's _Langston_, professor, Ray Langston. Just call me Ray."  
>Jake's thin legs were having trouble keeping up in the deep snow; slowly and strenuously trying to plow through the raging storm. The two continued onwards, picking up their pace as they did.<p>

Gunther, otherwise known as Gun, was the last of the surviving people in the team. He was older than Langston, though they were of the same rank in the team. There was no doubt though that he had more experience than Langston – his army record showed that, alright. Chloe stopped midway to turn to the others, and tried to judge how far the professor and Langston were from them.

"I don't think that Mr. Downing'll make it. We gotta cut him loose. The others are close to finding us, there's no time to waste." Gunther said gruffly; he wasn't as compassionate as Langston was, and he surely wasn't going to die in some snowstorm gunfight. Disappointingly though, he was met with Chloe's dark 'no-can-do' stare, and despite her wearing goggles, he could feel that stare.

She walked casually to him and said, "We don't leave anyone behind." Gunther looked away. "_At least not anymore..._" she whispered to herself, recalling the events that happened back in Nepal.

"What do we do then when they arrive? Cause they sure as hell will catch up at this rate, and we sure ain't got no chance to win." Chloe just stared beyond the white expanse, then placed her hand on top of her gun and smiled a sad smile,

"We improvise, do what we can. Langston will take the professor to safety while we take fight. _Desperate times_right?"

The man nodded solemnly, sighed and yelled behind him, "**Hurry up, you worthless snails! We got killers to outrun!**" The two then turned and started walking again, with Chloe leading the way.

Langston and Downing heard the call, and struggled to keep moving; four people making their way in the vast desert of snow. They went on alone, without help, and without someone, like Nate, to hear their calls.

**15th February, 11:00 p.m.  
>Nate's house, Colorado Springs<strong>

Nathan Drake sat on the edge of his bed, yawning loudly as he took of his white T-shirt and rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. All the talk about treasure, adventures, housekeeping and Sully had made him tired and desperate for sleep more than he ever was that night. He stood up, threw his shirt over the floor and just out the covers to drop down onto the bed and sleep.

It was just his luck then when the door opened without warning, making a soft creaking sound running throughout the room. He turned around, annoyed, to see who it was, and saw Elena peeking her head out into the room. "Oh, uh, sorry, I hope I didn't disturb your uh, whatever it is you're doing." Nate opened the door and invited her in, never letting his eyes off her as he did so. She still looked as beautiful as ever; the same old Elena, the same great woman he'd spent so much time with. The only woman who didn't mind his death-wish occupation, heck, she had even gone with him on several occasions.

"So, well I...uh, was just about to get some sleep, you know, I..."  
>He sighed, as he didn't know what to say after three full weeks of running and shooting. Elena just smiled understandingly and ran her fingers through the bed's soft blue sheets and looked at him. She gave a small laugh, "I get it, Nate. You want to have your beauty sleep after all the action. <em>But<em>...you didn't really expect me to sleep all by myself in that room tonight now did you?" Now it was Nate's turn to smile, laugh nervously and raise his eyebrows, scratching his head as he did so.

Only just moments later, the two were in bed together, Nate forgetting all about his sleep and tiredness completely. Elena rolled to the side laughing as Nate turned to catch her, but not before she noticed the red beeping light on the phone machine.  
>"Nate, did you check the–" interrupted by Nate's hand running across her body, Elena punched the button before resuming their uh, 'business'.<p>

The machine beeped twice, and repeated a message, "_Delete three messages fro–_" a hand reached out and pressed the 'No' button, prompting the machine to show the messages. Nate groaned in annoyance and complained, "Aw, Elena! Why did you have to ruin the–" Elena placed her fingers on his lips, telling him to shut up as a familiar voice, though a bit unclear, spoke through the machine.

It was Chloe speaking in the message. Nate lifted his head up, looking puzzled. "Chloe? What is she..." he stopped talking as he realized that the message might've been important. The couple listened carefully for the three entire messages, up to the point when Chloe said 'goodbye'. Bodies still pressed together, though now in an awkward position, the two just stared at the machine for a while.

Elena started to speak when Nate got up and out of the bed, "Nate, she's in trouble, and what is she doing there anyways? And wait, you're still in contact with her? Nathan?" The room felt colder than usual, and the only sound there was the sound of Nate buckling up his belt and putting on a simple grey singlet.

"I don't know, I mean, that wasn't like her at all, calling me at home..."  
>He said seriously. Then he started sounding nervous and his voice turned a bit more pitchy and high.<br>"…not that we ever talked frequently or uh…no, I meant, we had _never_ talked! Wait, but I...nope. We **never** talked. That's…for sure…yeah, that's sure."  
>The stuttering ended with him smiling, like the smile an innocent child would give when trying to explain to his parents that he didn't break the vase, although he really did.<br>"Nate..."  
>Elena said, stretching the word a little longer, knowing what was on his mind.<p>

Finally though, Nate threw up his hands and said, albeit still in a high-pitched confessing voice, "Okay,** okay**! I talk to her sometimes, but only about treasures and stuff! And archeology! That's it, I promise!"  
>"Thank you. That's better." she replied sincerely, glad to know that he could at least tell her the truth when confronted. "So what are we going to do now? The call was made last month." she asked as Nate gave her clothes back urgently and walked towards the door.<p>

The old thing creaked again; his hand grabbed hold of the door's side and he looked at Elena, still in bed, and said,  
>"<strong>We grab Sully, find the goddamn site and get going.<strong>"  
>Then the door slammed shut, leaving her behind in the cold empty room.<br>"Ugh..." Elena muttered to herself, picking up her shirt and was starting to get dressed when the door suddenly creaked and opened again, surprising her.

"Oh, and uh, you comin'?"

Nate's head peeked into the room and asked her innocently…and then he slammed the door shut again. The room fell silent once more, and Elena Fisher sighed and grunted,

"I hate it when you do that."


	4. Chapter 4

**15th February, 11:30 p.m.  
>Somewhere in the Andes mountains,<strong>

Gunshots rang. A bullet pierced thin armor and lodged itself into the right thigh of Gunther. He grunted, surprisingly resistant for a man his age; the soldier kept returning fire while running backwards with his limp.

The enemies had arrived just moments ago when the team was just about to stop – Professor Downing was lagging behind again. Now he was forced to run, for his life. Snow and storm didn't matter now for the old man, he ran fast with Langston, hoping to get away far enough while Chloe and Gunther provided cover.

"**Guther! Can you keep on moving?**" Chloe shouted across the blazing symphony of gunfire and snowstorm.  
>"<em>Does it look like I have a choice?<em>"  
>Gunter was still moving across the knee-deep snow, thigh burning with the pain of an open wound, ice scraping his bare flesh every step he took.<p>

Their enemies – blood-thirsty mercenaries, undisciplined by all means, chased them down like bloodhounds on the hunt. The mercenaries were just foot soldiers and frontline dummies for an elite troop of soldiers that followed behind them, only about twenty or so.

Hollis Randock, the pack leader of the mercenary sat shotgun to one of his goons in a small copter, covering miles of snowy grounds in a matter of minutes from the raided camp. Along with the other ring leaders, he rode from the previous excavation site, delayed by about five hours from where Chloe was now.

He sent a search team, or more exactly, he sent his _hunting pack_ahead, set to capture or kill whoever they're told to find. Now that Chloe is pinned and outgunned, Hollis can speed down the way towards them, anticipating an easy capture and reward.

Gunther kept his fingers tight around the trigger, his machine guns shooting out short bursts of rounds from both his hands. Three mercenaries dropped dead just a few meters in front of him. _Lucky shot._He thought, quickly reloading both of his guns without wasting a second.

They didn't have much to go – the mountain range didn't provide a lot of travelling road, throwing in jagged cliffs and unstable snow-covered platforms. It's tough enough to traverse the hazardous terrain, and it's overkill when a rally of mercenaries come attacking with heavy gear and weaponry.

"**Chloe**_, where're we headin' to?_"  
>Gunther shouted out, realizing that he was loading his last clip. Professor Downing and Langston were somewhere behind them, far away from the fire, he hoped.<p>

Out of the blurry blizzard, Chloe suddenly fell beside Gunther with a loud crash into the snow, whipping up large chunks of cold ice. A figure appeared from where Chloe was 'thrown'; the creature was huge, probably about six and a half foot tall, maybe even more, with bulging muscles and steroid-induced pumping veins.

Stepping into Gunther's visibility range, it was clear that the thing was no creature, but a mercenary three times the size and badass-ness of the normal kind. He wore thick equipment – snow gears and webbing, but the most prominent thing of all was the gun he was holding.

That psycho of a human held a PKM heavy machine gun, a freaking gun meant to be fired _from a pod on the ground_, clearly too heavy for a soldier to carry. The man was walking around with it as if it were a pump-action shotgun.

"**What the hell?**"  
>Before Gunther could finish taking in the immense size of the mercenary, he was hit hard on his chin by an uppercut from the elbow. Falling hard onto the snow, Gunther shot up his gun in reflex and let loose a short burst of rounds at the mercenary.<p>

The shots were futile, and he was hit again, in the gut, by the man before he even fell flat to the ground. Blood spewed in chunks from his mouth, coughing out bits of red and warm red liquid that tasted metallic when it touched his tongue. He squinted in pain and saw his snow-white suit all covered in blood, with a dark black shadow on top of him. "_D-damn it, Ch-Chloe?_" was all that he could ask before the final blow came onto his forehead – a devastating smash from the butt of the gun that came down with a sickening 'crack'.

Gunther was gone, and it was Chloe's turn as she slowly woke up from her fall, seeing nothing but a blur of a huge creature with a large, bloody gun on his hands.

**17th February, 5:00 a.m.  
>An airport somewhere in Colorado<strong>

Nate packed up the last of the equipments the team needed for the long journey ahead. The cargo plane was more than enough to carry a load of equipments that were by far puny compared to the tank-sized crates that lined the cargo hold.

He was just about to secure the ropes to the floor when a loud booming voice called out from behind, at the plane's cargo door.

"Draky! How's it goin', man?" the guy walked into the plane with loud strides, his steel-sole boots clanking with every step. Nate turned around slowly and gave a worried smile, surprised by the visitor.

"Luther! Man! ...what're you doing here?" he said, nervously glancing back and forth between Luther and the cargo hold. "Aren't you suppose to be...up there working up the pilot's cabin? Or something?" he sounded pitchy like the time he got caught red-handed by Elena when he lied to her about going somewhere else on the night of their supposed date.

Luther Point walked up to his old pal and patted, or more likely slapped, grabbed and squeezed Nate's shoulders happily to which Nate replied with a squeal and a painful smile.

"Lutherrrrrr..." he squeaked, trying hard to pry off the hands of a pro-wrestler turned pilot off his aching shoulders. The guy made it a habit of doing that whenever he met Nate, and that was exactly the reason why Nate wanted to keep their conversation on the phone, not face to face in a fit of pain.

The pilot laughed and stepped aside as Sully came on board, just in time to see Nate wince in pain. "Where've you been?" Nate asked, still wincing from his pain, rolling his shoulders as he talked. Sully took his cigar from his mouth and held it by his side, laughing in his usual deep voice.

"What did I tell ya? He's still a Nancy after all these years."  
>Luther remarked, shoving his elbow lightly at Sully's arm. The old man took out a ten-dollar bill and gave it over to Luther, then the pilot left with a wide grin on his wrinkled face.<br>"**Sully!**"  
>Nate yelled in annoyance.<p>

"_You had me going there kid, I really thought that you could take that hit. Now you owe me ten dollars for that!_"  
>Sully said in a tone of genuine disappointment.<p>

"_You're a real pal, you know that?_"  
>"<em>Only the best one, kid.<em>"  
>Sully chuckled. "<em>Only the best one.<em>"

After much shoulder-rolling, Nate locked the final clamps of the equipments to the floor; Sully was strapping himself on the seat, ready for takeoff when he was suddenly reminded of something. He held back his cigar and yelled at Nate, who was on the other end of the hold,  
>"Hey, Nate! You sure Elena's fine by herself?"<p>

A reply came from across, less loud compared to Sully, but still audible. Nate was adjusting his straps when he yelled back,

"Damnit, Sully, you don't have to shout in here, I can hear you! She'll be okay, just reaching for a couple of contacts in South America about the expedition! I saw her off yesterday morning at the airport on a flight to Jamaica! Ah, don't worry about her."

Sully pulled his cigar to his mouth and hesitated again,  
>"I don't know, Nate. Something tells me that the place's...<em>hinky.<em>"  
>"It's not a Nazi u-boat, Sully. Relax."<p>

Sully said to himself,  
>"I got a girl back there in Rio, a pretty looker. Stole all my money and left me an empty wallet and my pants!"<br>"Seriously. A hooker stole your clothes?" Nate said, pathetically.  
>"A <em>girlfriend<em>, Nate. There's a big difference."  
>"You sure, Sully? I think your eyesight's blurry."<p>

Sully just waved his hand in dismissal and smoked his cigar, not before giving a soft chuckle. The cargo ramp closed and Luther's voice crackled through the intercom,  
>"<em>Hold on tight, ladies, it's gonna be a long ride from here to Brazil!<em>" the word 'Brazil' being given a heavier importance in tone.

And just like that, after a day of research, Nate and Sully packed up their bags and set flight for the search and rescue of Chloe. Sully looked around and asked,  
>"You think we're gonna find the treasure, Nate?"<p>

Unfortunately for Sully, his friend was deep in thoughts in the new leather-bound notebook he got the day before, scouring through pages and words of information he noted.

Nate stopped flipping pages and stared, transfixed, at the last page of the book, containing a small piece of old paper with a picture of an intricate ornament with a circular orb in the center. The words written weren't like anything anyone have seen, but beside it was thin black words scribbled in English.

He whispered under his breath in amazement,

"**Yagotipotl...the Blood of Coatl...**"


	5. Chapter 5

**15th of February, 10:05 p.m.**

**Ancient ruins, somewhere in the Andes,**

A tall gray tower of about a hundred feet tall stood out from a sea of rocky mountain cliffs and ledges, surrounded by a million years worth of rock formation and cold weather. Somewhere in the deep mountain range of the Andes, the secluded ruins of a Spanish colonial fortress stood still standing. The tower was just a centerpiece to what was a well-built place, a stronghold capable of holding back a thousand troops that covered the area in a large square perimeter, with four watchtowers on each corner.

Most of the site was in ruins by the time Chloe's team had reached it, destroyed by who-knows how many hundred blizzards that had blown over the years. Before they could even set up camp on the old fortress, the team was ambushed by Randock and his cronies, forcing them to barely escape from the hell-fired ruins. The fortress was now occupied by the enemies, groups of mercenaries and soldiers now scattered around the area, setting up camp and stations while surveying the place for any signs of artifacts.

Four men walked through the ravaged ruins of the fortress, among them were Frank Petrovsky, Travis Gills, Jo Trench and Robert Dipper. They assembled at a small metal table that looked as if it was hastily put up to act as a temporary conference table. On it were several maps and files overlapping each other, statistics and data concerning the mission. A red coffee mug was also on top of a brown folder, with the faded words _'Best Dad in the World_' printed on it.

Jonathan Trench picked up the mug and took in a long drink, then held it in his hand. The coffee mug had left a distinct coffee-ring on the folder. "Little Julie's turning six this year," he said, smiling as he did. He was the kind of man you'd see wearing a checkered shirt over a t-shirt and jeans throwing a Frisbee in the park to his dog along with his wife and kids. In short, he was a family man.

Little Julie was his daughter, and he loved her dearly, like any good father would. Trench didn't look a tad bit dangerous; he even looked like your typical neighbor who would come help you fix your plumbing in the kitchen. But he wasn't wearing T-shirt and jeans today, nor was he there in the Andes to help fix a busted pipe as a friendly neighbor.

He was there as Jo Trench, the notorious weapons dealer who was working under the pretense of an insurance salesperson back home.

"How nice. My grandmama's turning ninety next Friday, and I'm baking a cake for her." Travis Gills said in a blunt and sarcastic tone.

"Why're you here anyways, Trench? An arms dealer has no business in the mountains. You people never get your hands dirty." he suspiciously remarked, eyeing Trench with full distrust and rivalry.

The one-eyed man was a serious criminal mobster; he led a drug cartel near the borders of Mexico and fancies himself as a professional guy, considering that he was dubbed multiple names by both the police and the gangs, such as the popular tags, 'cop-killer' and 'Judas the traitor'. Sure, he never trusted anybody, but only because he didn't trust himself either. Gills was always up for any job concerning money and treasure, so when he heard about the artifact way south of the border, or in this case, continent, he ran straight for the jackpot…

…except that the jackpot lies somewhere miles away from the icy fortress he was in right now. That tends to make Gills a bit jumpy and iffy a times, especially when he was standing in front of a weapons dealer he did not like at all. Trench simply shrugged and said in his normal voice, "Well, I'm not here for the money, that's for sure. My business takes care of that." The last sentence sounded a bit smug.

He continued. "Do you know, _Senor Gills_, what this artifact offers us?"

Gills' eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a growl. He did not like being called names. "_Or are you just some happy-trigger-finger hick?_"

That was it for him.

Travis Gills did not care about anything anymore; he launched himself across the table, knocking over the maps and folders, reached his hand out for Jonathan and swung his other hand onto him, a hand that was holding a KA-BAR knife. Trench stepped back and let the bladed hand swipe down on nothingness, staring at Gills satisfyingly. Travis was about to try another slash at Trench just as a loud voice shouted through the air.

"_**Enough!**_"

The Russian said with a voice that screamed of command and discipline. Frank Petrovsky stepped beside Gills and slapped the back of his head with a very much audible 'smack'. It'd hurt. Trench quickly bent down and picked up the low-flying pieces of paper and files while Gills reluctantly followed.

"The artifact, boys, will only serve its purpose after we _acquire_ it, with or without your blundering help. So help me, for I will have each of your tongue cut out on this table if you don't behave. And you won't even have time to say, 'a'." Petrovsky firmly said.

The two men grunted in complaint. No matter how much they wanted to go against Petrovsky, they didn't want to mess with an ex-KGB commander.

"He ain't the man you wanna be messin' with, I'll tell ya that."

Another voice came from behind them, coming from the crowd of mercenaries setting up camp. It was the last man in the group; Robert Dipper, a.k.a Dip-Cig, so called for his habit of throwing his cigar onto his victim's pool of blood after killing him mercilessly. The crime lord walked towards the table. "Now, where were we?" he asked, looking at all three men and the table full of upturned maps and coffee-stained folders. "We're just talking about the artifact here, when Gills decided to throw his knife at me." Trench calmly said.

Dipper nodded and laughed, then looked at Travis and asked, "Travis, how are we holding up here? Your men doin' fine?" Travis shrugged and said, "Yeah, they're fine." Dipper stared at him and his tone dropped an octave.

"Then why am I seeing them just sitting there slacking like a bunch of dimwitted fools while the others are working?" he started screaming. When Robert Dipper screamed or shouted, he really did it with all his might, shouting so loud that the fortress fell silent. It was as if the place was left empty again like it was for a thousand years.

Nobody moved, but soon enough, Gills cleared his throat, scratched the back of his head and called out to his men.

"What are you waiting for? _**Move**_!" he shouted, partly in panic and partly in anger. He never looked up at any of the men; his head hung low in shame.

"Move where, boss?" one of his men asked, sounding confused and unsure. Gills snapped and turned to his men, screaming, "Do I look like an answer-machine? Godamnit, find _something_ to do! Go!" In just a second's time, the fortress was busy again, filled with the sound of moving men, some silent and some complaining. True enough, Robert Dipper was the mastermind of the mission, the one man that called in all the other guys and kept things together. That man did everything he could to get his hands on the artifact, and he wasn't going to tolerate the lack of discipline, not even some from a notorious drug cartel leader.

"Sir, do you want me to send for a troop to chase down the professor and his friends? Kill them, probably?" Petrovsky asked Dipper.

The Russian personally responded to Dipper's orders, as he was hired to become his go-to guy. It's not like Dipper could rely on the other ambitious self-conscious criminals for help. They were expandable, he thought to himself. Petrovsky was too, but he was less dangerous when it comes to chances of betrayal. Ex-soldiers of the Reds or Nazis tend to lend their loyalty to strangers, as long as they get paid, of course. And they never let you down as far as their money is concerned. Dipper shook his head.

"Don't. We need your service here in the fortress. Randock's on their tails already; he gotta be somewhere in the mountains, cornering Professor Downing and his pack." Dipper said. "_Randock_? You surely aren't suggesting that you let that mercenary take out our target? That man is worthless!" Petrovsky raised his voice as he said the words.

"As much as I hate to say it, Petrovsky's right." Gills spoke. "I won't count on that guy to do my business." "You never let anybody do your business, Gills. Not even yourself!" Trench laughed as he cut in to the conversation. Instead of attacking him, Gills calmed down and sighed, accepting defeat, since he himself knew that it was true. Dipper assured the men that Randock will get the job done.

"We don't want to waste manpower, and Randock and his mercenaries are the cheapest ones. They'll be fine." he said.

The wind seemed to blow stronger as the minutes passed by; the fortress started coming alive again, fueled by the army that had settled in. Lights decked the place, illuminating the darkness, while the tower still stood, now with an eerie yellow glow on top of it. If one looked closer, he would see a long muzzle of a sniper rifle pointing out of the tower window, ready to shoot any oncoming trespassers. The four men retired into a chamber inside the fortress. Petrovsky was walking alongside Dipper, who was reading a map with pictures of the circular artifact on it.

"I hope you are not wrong about Randock, sir. That woman with the professor seemed pretty stubborn and...resourceful, to say the least. It will be hard for a dim-witted man like Randock to catch her." Petrovsky said, still unsure. Dipper waved his hand in dismissal and smiled at Frank.

"Trust me, Frank. You worry too much. Anyways, Randock has Vlad with him. I don't think a thin woman with brains can outrun that beast." he said.

"Vlad? You sent one of my men to work with Randock? Sir, that's a -"

"Cut it, Frank. You're testing my patience. Let's remember who the boss around here is. My orders. That's final."

"My apologies, sir."

"Good. Now, are you up for some good coffee? I know a fine soldier who makes great coffee."


	6. Chapter 6

**17th February, 7:00 a.m.  
><strong>**Norman Manley International Airport, Kingston, Jamaica,**

It was seven in the morning, and the skies were faring well with all its cheeriness and good humor shining all throughout its deep blue surface. The sun was no different with his casual effort, throwing down rays of morning light, an effort that he does so in a pleasant and happy mood. All was well in the great expanse of the heavenly skies, and everything was smooth and bright above.

Back down on Earth, for a certain lady by the name of Elena, the prospect of a bright sunny morning wasn't so appealing when compared to the situation at hand. Her so-called friend was lost somewhere in the mountains, possibly surrounded by a thousand goons, and most probably dead by now, if it weren't for luck.

She didn't doubt that Chloe had a lot of luck. She didn't doubt it either that she had Nate to count on. What she really doubted now was the task she had to do then: she had exactly before sundown to collect all information regarding Chloe's expedition, the artifact, her team and any suspicious groups that were following her.

Before sundown, since she had to catch a plane to Brazil by then to meet up with Nate and Sully, whom she believed to have taken the easy way.

"Girls' gotta do all the work", she said to herself.

Jamaica was a great place; the sun was a pleasure to bathe in, the sky was clearer than clear, and everything was perfect for a holiday getaway. Elena sighed, looked away from the tempting sun and went into the taxi cab as she put on her sunglasses, preparing herself for a tiring day of work and sweat. The car's tires screeched away as it headed towards Port Royal.

Little does she know that as her cab pulled away, a black motorbike followed suit, tracking her down as his one and only target. Under the bright sunlight, the bike rider's belt glimmered as the sun fell upon the gun that was resting securely on the belt, moving ever so slightly to the bike's own movement.

Elena Fisher sat unaware in the cab, meters away from the biker, both of them driving to the same destination, with a different, and one deadly intention.


	7. Chapter 7

**17th February, 7:30 a.m.  
><strong>**Ancient ruins, somewhere in the Andes,**

Chloe Frazer woke up to the sound of a gunshot erupting from a nearby source, possibly, a soldier standing somewhere beside her. Headache pulsed all through her head, beating down the synapses like a butcher hammering down a dead piece of cold meat. That was what her head felt like; cold meat.

She groaned in pain and tried to stand up, only to be pushed back down to her seat by some unseen force. It didn't take her long to realize that she was tied down to a chair. She tried to move her hands; they were tied behind the chair. She tried her legs; bound again, from knee to feet.

Before she was able to try screaming, some soldier walked towards her and bent down to look at her. She was sure that he was captivated by her clear blue eyes, judging from the expression on his battle-worn face. It wasn't a new thing, she thought. Most men acted that way. Even Nate...Nate, oh, how she wished to see him right now...

"**Captain, the hostage's awake!**"

The soldier shouted behind him, loud enough to send the headache rippling through Chloe's head again. The gunfire had ceased, though it appeared that the gun only fired once. As the soldier ran back to the captain, it seemed, Chloe started to look around her surroundings, started to search for the source of the gunfire.

She recognized the ruins of the Spanish fortress that she had once stayed at not so long ago, although the soldiers' campsite, heavy gears and machinery made the place hardly recognizable from what it was before. The tent she was seated under wasn't that large, sheltering only a couple of crates, gun storage-boxes and a small metal table.

A red coffee mug was on top of that table, and on it was some faded words that Chloe could not red – not that she didn't want to, it's just that there're more important things to do then. It took her a while to pinpoint her location, which she identified as the right center of the fortress, considering the square shape of the fortress.

A sudden groan of pain surprised her from her far left; it didn't occur to her before, the groan, granted that her headache prevented her to take in anything at all. The gunfire was her wake up call, and it did that call pretty well. Everything was clear now, and she could hear, see and feel things just fine.

She turned her head to the left.

And she saw Ray Langley kneeling on the floor, hands tied behind him, head down with a gun pointed right at his head. His left shoulder was bleeding, most probably from the gunshot that Chloe heard just minutes ago.

Three soldiers were standing around Langley, one of them pointing the gun at his head. Professor Downing was nowhere to be found. Chloe's mouth opened to shout for Langley, but closed again before she did, for she identified another man in the group who has just walked in.

The soldier who looked at Chloe just now was with him, and he looked twice as tired as he did before. _Poor man_, Chloe thought. _Must have been pushed around by that bastard_.

That bastard.

**Jonathan Trench**, notorious weapons dealer. Flynn had introduced him to her, back when they were working for Lazarevic, another heartless bastard. It occurred then to Chloe that she had met so many bastards in her life...she shook her head to that thought. Flynn had almost hired Trench to get weapons from him, but Lazarevic objected (he didn't trust him) and took things in his own hands, considering that he was a ruthlessly successful warlord.

In the end, they cut their ties with Trench and got a whole bunch of weaponry, including dozens of attack copters from Lazarevic himself. Although Chloe had never known Trench that long enough to understand him, she didn't doubt for a moment that Trench was the worst of the worst kind of smug bastards. If first impressions are what they say they are, then Jo Trench truly was a beast.

Chloe had first met the weapons dealer in the middle of an empty Russian airfield. The copter slowly landed as a dozen soldiers came surrounding the landing area, ready with their guns. They never knew who to trust...well, _Lazarevic_ never knew who to trust. It was a striking image, really, when Trench came out of the copter, all dressed up in a neat business suit with a suitcase in his right hand.

Well shaven, clean-cut and practically out of place among the grim soldiers and mercenaries, Trench didn't look that tough or dangerous at all, but his demeanor told people otherwise. If Trench looked like a loving husband and a father back home in suburbia, the man in the copter pad didn't look like him at all. What was there instead was a shark, a man whose air screamed 'danger' to those close to him. Chloe saw a scheming, sly and menacing creature behind the formal attire, and knew better than to work with the man.

He walked towards Flynn, shook his hands firmly, smiled and turned to Chloe. It seemed that he was about to greet her, but seeing that she's got her hands on her hips, staring at him in contempt, Trench backed out and just smiled at her. Flynn and Chloe didn't know just how he got the weapons he had, weapons that equaled the ones Lazarevic had, or even better. But Jo Trench never cut a cheap deal, always making turns with cunning wit and brains. It was hard to resist the offers, no matter how expensive they were. The weapons were worth it.

Needles to say though, the deal didn't go through. They were not inclined to involve another criminal into the game. Jo Trench wasn't the typical dealer; he had the tendency to get his hands dirty, personally being there for the final stretch, though only if the expedition was rewarding enough. His presence in the Andes ruins was proof enough that the artifact was serious business.

Chloe stared at the man. He didn't seem to notice her staring as he did back when they met, but he was preoccupied by Langley and his bleeding shoulder. If what Chloe had heard about him was true, then–a shot erupted again, forcing Chloe to wince in shock and pain.

As the headache subsided, she looked up and saw the smoke rising from the gun on Trench's hand. She also saw the figure of Langley lying on the snowy ground, not moving.

It wasn't Chloe's style to cry out and panic, but that was all she could do then. The prospect of seriously getting killed was dawning on her quick like a fast-forwarded video of a sunrise. She was surrounded by a professionally organized army, led by who-knows-how-many criminal masterminds, along a monstrous weapons dealer.

They were no Lazarevic, definitely no Flynn (he was practically harmless to her), and worse yet, she was all alone. What scared her most was the fact that they wanted Downing and Downing only, and all other interfering people were going to get killed. That included a now-crying woman named Chloe Frazer.

She hung her head low and waited for the worst.

...

"**Chloe Frazer, I presume.**" a male voice spoke in front of Chloe. She didn't budge. It was Trench. "I hope you're not thinking back on how we met back then, 'cause rest assured, no good handshake would have changed the situation now. Not even when I appreciate good-lookin' women like you. We should've met on a different occasion; could've made good accomplices." he said.

"I doubt it." Chloe was still looking down. Two soldiers came up on Trench's side and one of them whispered something to him. Chloe peeked at the men, looking up a bit to take a glance at Trench. Yup, he was still the same. Even in a full-armor uniform, he still bore a clean-cut air around him with a tinge of smugness. He looked like a finer copy of Flynn, without his accent and personality. Trench noticed her eyes glaring at him, and smiled effortlessly.

"The captain wants to have a little chat with you. Consider yourself lucky I don't have to deal with you now." he plainly said.

"I doubt it." Chloe said again, and then she looked up and looked at him angrily. The shark raised one eyebrow, shrugged and turned around to walk away. The two soldiers released the restraints on Chloe's hands and legs, and led her to the center of the camp.

She walked along, with a rifle pointed on her back, and thought about how lucky she really was to have not been killed on spot. The wind blew harder across the fortress, whipping up grains of snow into the air, forcing Chloe to close her eyes when it hit her. All her equipments, including the goggles, were taken away, leaving her with her snowsuit and nothing else.

She turned to look at the bloody spot where Langley was shot, only to see an empty patch of snow. The wind seemed to have covered the blood pool with ice already, and she assumed that Langley was probably disposed of by now.

The soldier behind her nudged the muzzle of the gun harder on her back to warn her. She turned forward again, and saw the growing size of the captain's quarters approaching. It appeared that the camp headquarters was set inside the fortress, in what seemed to be a weapons storage-room, clearly emptied by then. She could see the dark figures of soldiers moving around, along with four other figures standing over a huge table and a drawing board behind them. The flickering of bright monitor screens and radio receivers filled the ends of the wall of the room.

Jo Trench was nowhere to be seen, so he probably went off on his own already. The storm was about to get worse as the wind blew harder on the camp, unforgiving with blasts of frozen rain. Chloe gathered up her guts and headed into the headquarters. As someone close by (albeit a jerk) to her once said,

"No guts, no glory."


	8. Chapter 8

**18th February, 15:45 p.m.**

**Port Royal, Kingston, Jamaica,**

The trip was moving along smoothly as the cab drove its way to Port Royal with Elena in the passenger's seat. It was a pretty long ride though, and she felt tired just sitting there doing nothing but staring at the sunny skies behind the window, knowing well that she wasn't there for vacation. She sighed as she turned back to her notes, revising the list of questions she planned to ask when she arrives at the destination.

Everything felt familiar; noting down things, going to places and interviewing people for the sake of getting the latest news and info. The only difference was that there was no cameraman tagging along with her or a voice recorder in hand. She was doing her job as a reporter again, albeit on a rescue mission, if you can call it that. Elena gave out a small chuckle at the thought of that.

The driver looked at the rearview mirror, intrigued, and smiled to her.

"So, what's a pretty single gal like you doing here in Jamaica?" he asked with a thick American accent.

"Single? Big mistake, mister," she said, taken aback.

On second thought though, she didn't mind that at all. It was an amusing idea, to think about what Nate would do if he was there beside her. He'd probably snap at the driver defensively.

She laughed again. The cab driver turned back and looked at her with an amused face, and went back to driving. He laughed to himself and said,

"You're one funny woman." Elena smiled in her mind.

The road passed by again as she looked up from her notes and at the windshield, enjoying the view of bright sunlight, palm trees and laid back people walking in the streets. She couldn't believe that a tourist-infested island like this held the clues to finding an ancient artifact. Then again, she wasn't one to argue with history.

It was back in the house when Nate told her about the artifact, an ancient spherical stone kept by a mythical tribe in the jungles of South America. Nobody cared about the object, since its existence was highly improbable. People were too busy searching for better known myths anyways, such as the likes of El Dorado, Shambala and the Holy Grail. Drake didn't know just how and why Chloe had become interested in the artifact, but he recalled something about a professor.

"She talked about meeting up with a professor Downing or someone. That was two months ago," Nate said. They looked up Downing's name on the 'net, and found out about his recent trip to Port Royal in January - the exact same month that Chloe wanted to meet him. In the end, Elena prompted to go up to Port Royal and find information while the two boys head for Brazil, to follow up on another lead on the artifact, or so Nate thought.

"Hey, is everything all right? You look dazed, lady."

Elena paused for a second, and shook her head as her thoughts fade back into reality. The driver shrugged and kept his eyes on the road ahead.

"Well, I was just thinking..." Elena started. The driver got interested again. "I've heard a lot about Port Royal, but I've never heard it from a local's point of view. Do you mind telling me about that place..." she leaned forward to check his driver's license. "...Lucas?" she asked. Just as expected, the driver smiled and started talking. Elena knew just how to get the skinny from anybody she met.

"Port Royal, eh? I don't know much about that place cause I don't grow up here," the driver said and glanced back shortly at Elena. "Grew up in the States, you see," he grinned. "But some stories do float by now and then. Let's see...Port Royal..." Elena smiled and got her notes and pencil, ready to write. At least this cab ride isn't gonna be a waste of time, she thought to herself.

"You must've heard about the pirates in Port Royal, right? The place's is like the Las Vegas of pirates, and they all came down to that hole back then. Blackbeard, Henry Morgan, Rackham, you name it, they're all there.

A couple more years into the 1690s though and an earthquake drowned the place, leaving the people there to move into Kingston. The pirates left, the watery site was abandoned, and Port Royal isn't as good a place before as it is now." he paused. "You could check out the museums they have there and the still-standing fort though, for a couple of dollars. They got some pretty interesting British army and pirates stuff...cannons and all."

He stopped to take a breather, although he seemed to be enjoying it.

"You 'ever been to the museums?" Elena asked in a friendly tone, frankly surprised by the amount of information the man had on a place he claimed to know so little about.

"No, I don't like history that much. It's all sun and sand for me here," Lucas laughed. "But everybody knows about them pirates in Port Royal, everybody who works here knows that."

_Pirates_, Elena thought.

Nate was better suited there than Elena was, considering the thought of her bumping into any undead water-logged shipmate. She shook her head to the ridiculous idea and kept her mind on the main objective of the trip. The cab fell silent for a moment as the sound of the engine roved through in Elena's ears. She listened closer...and heard a second set of motors running beside the cab, as if it was right next to her. Elena turned to look out of the window on her right, and found a man in a biker's helmet speeding alongside the cab.

"Darn bikers. These people don't know how to drive if their mothers ever taught them that," Lucas cursed.

The car suddenly swerved left in an attempt to get away from the motorbike, jolting Elena unexpectedly as she fell to her side. "Sorry about that, miss, but I don't wanna get too close to any bikes. They give a pretty nasty scratch or dent on the car."

Elena straightened herself and picked up her pencil and note and kept them in her sling bag. "That's fine, Lucas," she said, although her eyes were fixed on the window beside her, eyeing the biker that was getting closer, closer, closer and closer till..."Lucas!"

The bike slammed into the car softly as the metal screeched between both vehicles, catching Lucas in surprise.

"What the?"

The bike swerved off, and then came back again, speeding right beside Elena's door as the driver looked straight into the window. The sunlight cast off its glint on the biker's black helmet, but Elena didn't care about that. The only glint her mind registered was the gleaming metal object that was there in the biker's hand, waving side to side as if to show her what it was. She saw the gun move, and instinctively leaned forward and rapidly turned the wheel, grabbing control right out of Lucas' hands, which held back in utter disbelief.

"**Step on it!**" Elena screamed into his ears as the car turned a sharp left. The driver frowned and quickly held out his arm across Elena's chest as he did the exact opposite of what she told him to do. He stepped on the brakes. Elena turned the wheel right, and the car responded in an immediate 180 degree turn to a standstill. Lucas' cab lied horizontally parked in the middle of a busy Jamaican road, smoke rising up from the burnt tires and asphalt. Nobody saw the biker drive off from the incident.

Elena stared dumbfounded at the windshield, catching her breath while her driver leaned out of the window and searched for the gun-toting biker.

"He's gone," he told her. "Seriously, lady, just who are you and what _is_ your business in Port Royal?"

Elena dropped back to the seat, hearing the sounds of oncoming crowds outside, curious about the incident.

"Where are we now?" was all that she asked. Lucas turned around, no smile on his face, and bluntly replied.

"Port Royal. We're here."

"I don't know if you're up for it, but I need a ride to the museum," Elena said, searching for her wallet to give the driver his fee. _And don't forget the big tip_, she reminded herself.

"Keep the money for later. I'll drive you there," he said, his voice indifferent.

"Lucas?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Just don't touch my wheel again, okay?"

Lucas started grinning, and then they both laughed.

The crowd backed away as Lucas put the car in reverse and resumed the drive on the road, leaving the spectators with no answer behind. Similarly though, the crowd just shrugged off the incident and went back to their laid back way of life, as if nothing had ever happen at all...with the exception of one man.

He sat on his bike in the alleyway, his black helmet still on, with the fresh paint from a cab still stuck on the side of his ride. The man started up his engine, cocked his gun, and made way for the museum.


	9. Chapter 9

**17th of February, 16:28 **

**Rio, Brazil,**

"Double shot of what?"

The barman repeated, staring at the two Americans in front of him as if they were lunatics who escaped from their country. Nathan Drake and Victor Sullivan were standing as those two lunatics, and they groaned in annoyance then at the barman's idiocy.

"I don't think this is working, Nate. Look at him!"

Sully said, referring to the barman with his arms outstretched. "The man clearly doesn't understand what we're trying to say."

Nate starred at the barman's confused face.

"You know...a double shot of whiskey?" he asked again. The barman shook his head. "Fine. How 'bout Vodka?" He shook his head again. "Rum? Brandy? Bourbon?" Nate kept on rambling, and all the barman could do was breath out a deep sigh.

Nate thought a little bit more, and looked at Sully, who shook his head and turned away. The barman started walking away, presumably to attend to another less-insane customer.

"How about a double shot of espresso?" Nate shouted to the barman, who was clearly far from his reach now, and who clearly doesn't care about his questions. "At least tell me if your name's John!" The barman left, and Nate shouted in frustration.

They were there in Brazil already, and they've been to every bar they've spotted along the road from the airport, trying to find a man named John that Chloe'd told Nate about on the phone. No barman seems to be able to understand what Nate was asking, let alone speak comprehensible English.

"How do you even know that 'John's' in Brazil? He could be in Alaska for all I know," Sully asked Nate as they were walking down the streets, hoping to stop by another bar before heading back to the hotel. Elena was supposed to meet up with them the next day, but they were far from close to getting the information they want.

"_As soon as you hear this message, go to 'John' and ask for a double shot of –_," was all Chloe had said before the call ended with a barrage of gunfire.

Five hours had passed by since the plane touched down on the airport runway, and another hour passed as the trail went colder than ever.

"He should be here somewhere..." Nate murmured to himself.

"Who's John?" Sully had to raise his voice to get an answer.

"Ah...right. It's been just about three years, I guess, since we've met John. He could be anybody for all I know, but word's been going around that he's in Rio now." Nate was walking with his hands in his pockets, looking lost and dazed under the bright sunshine. Crowds were coming up and down the street, colorful and cheery with their casual look and attitude plastered all over their face. Nate stood out like a sore thumb in the country where people, mostly tourists, are supposed to lay back and enjoy their vacation.

"So, John's a code name?" Sully asked.

Nate nodded.

"Last time we met him, he was in Delaware, selling information in a hardware store. It was easy back then, but I guess John had to relocate way south to escape some guys, and nobody really got the exact position of him. I don't know how Chloe had found him though," Nate explained. They were stopped in front of another bar and stood out front.

"What does this John sell anyways? He's some sort of dealer?"

"Eh…no," Nate rubbed the back of his neck as if he was tired of the trip. "He's just this guy who gives us information and uh, updates in our area of work. Any one of us could be appointed as John if we wanted to, but it's mostly the guys who'd retired."

"Huh, 'work', you don't say. How come I didn't know any of this?" Sully frowned at Nate's clear display of low spirits.

"It's just something I found out during those days when I worked with Flynn. It just happens that Chloe knows it too. What can you say? Small world, Sul," Nate said. He looked at the bar's entrance, the door wide open but with no one going in or out.

"So, what are we gonna do now?" Sully asked.

"We wait."

"What?"

Nate sighed. "I don't know, Sully. We just wait for Elena to come, while we go around trying to find out who John is. I'm just not sure about this…if I had just been home when Chloe called…maybe she –" Sully interrupted him by grabbing his shoulders hard enough to surprise him. He held his cigar in his other hand and started speaking in a serious tone.

"Now listen, kid. I don't know what happened to you, you were fine as hell back on the plane, but I don't wanna hear about that. You're gonna figure this out, cause you always did, and we're gonna find Chloe and save her from any-goddamn-body that's holding her down. So stop frowning and have a little faith! We're in Brazil for life's sake!" Sully slapped Nate on the back and laughed, to which Nate smiled. Victor Sullivan, the man who'd supported him all throughout his life. He'd picked Drake off from trouble, took him in and…Nate knew that he owed his life to Sully, and Sully was right – it wasn't him to be sulking around because of some minor problem.

"You're right. I guess we should go in now," Nate said, somewhat more enthusiastic than before. "It's just that the whole setup's weird, Sully, what with John and all. I left that part of my life, and now it's back, and I don't know why." Sully waved his hand over Nate and retorted,

"Forget about that, kid, it's probably just a bad hunch. Come on, I could use a drink."

Sully walked into the bar, as Nate sighed and looked up at the sky.

_Am I thinking too much?_

Nate thought in his mind, wondering the chances that Chloe had contacted the same person, John, who'd put he and Flynn in so much trouble before. It may be a small world, but the smaller it gets, the more dangerous it is, and Nate's life wasn't always honey and roses. He secretly hoped in his heart that it was nothing, and proceeded to walk into the bar, unaware that the bar name hung outside big and clear; it said, "John's".


End file.
